


Let Me Put My Costume On

by treaddelicately



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mentions of Sansa Stark/Theon Greyjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately/pseuds/treaddelicately
Summary: When Arya gets talked into wearing a dress for Sansa's wedding, Gendry's only too happy to help her get out of it.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 28
Kudos: 167





	Let Me Put My Costume On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yanak324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanak324/gifts).



> Eeeeee! My sweet love Yana requested some Gendrya smut, fully clothed, preferably in a chair... and then this happened. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Shoutout to fineosaur for listening to me shout about this fic in her tumblr messages for DAYS. It's just as much for you as it is for Yana. <3
> 
> And as always, beta work compliments of BoudicaMuse, the generous light of my life who indulges me when I swing wildly away from our main fandom to pull some bullshit like this. Get yourself a friend like her.

“Arya, a smile, please?”

If she rolled her eyes, it was going to be caught on camera, again, and then her mother was going to admonish her in front of the entire wedding party, _again_. Unwilling to drag out her torture any longer than necessary, Arya arranged her face into another smile and wrapped her arm around Sansa’s waist while the shutter of the camera clicked repeatedly.

They’d been at this for what felt like an hour already. So many poses and scenery changes, first under the Weirwood tree where her sister and Theon had exchanged their vows, then in front of some ridiculous vine-covered lattice, and now crowded beside a ton of lavender bushes that were giving Arya a headache. Or maybe it was the pins holding her artificially curled hair into place that were the problem. Either way, she just wanted to be done.

Sansa had promised, after all. She had to wear the damn dress and the make-up and the up-do for the ceremony and the photos after the fact, but then she was free to change into whatever she wanted for the reception. And gods, was she ready to change.

The lilac dress hung to her ankles but had a slit up the left leg just above her knee, which would have been okay if not for the lace. All of the bodice was covered in lace and the satin lining underneath only covered her tits. It left her collarbones and shoulders covered in hot, irritating, purple lace that had her wishing desperately Sansa had chosen strapless dresses for her bridesmaids.

They had a few more rounds of photos, some with the groomsmen and some with her family. Rickon kept making bunny ears behind their mother’s head and he got yelled at by the photographer, too, so at least she wasn’t the only one. 

Gendry was waiting for her when she was finally released, his lips pressed together in a thinly veiled attempt to hide his amusement.

“Oh, shut up,” Arya growled, shoving his arm. “Wish you’d had to deal with that nonsense, too.”

“But I’m not a groomsman,” he reminded her. “Thank every fucking god in existence.”

She could agree with him there. It was bad enough that Sansa had talked her into this ridiculous dress, but if she’d stuffed Gendry into one of those carefully tailored suits she had chosen for Theon and his groomsmen, that may have been the end of Arya’s patience. Sure, his arse looked fantastic even in the dress slacks he’d bought for the occasion, but she didn’t care to see him dolled up and slicked back. 

She liked his rough edges, the holey jeans and messy hair that was consistently covered in a layer of sawdust, the calloused hands that were always rough and warm on her body. Even though he was hardly recognizable in his wedding guest get-up, Gendry’s hand still felt the same when he tucked his palm into hers and towed her away from her family.

The venue Sansa had chosen was attached to hotel suites, which meant thankfully a short walk back to the room the bridal party had used to get ready. Arya had stashed her backpack full of clothes there in hopes of a quick change once she was done with photos. Since the rest of the girls planned on attending the reception in full dress and make-up, no one was around when she swiped them back into the room with the keycard she’d given Gendry for safekeeping.

“Gods, you ladies say we’re the slobs,” Gendry remarked as the door swung open to reveal the trashed dressing room. “Was there an explosion in here?”

“Hurricane,” Arya replied, searching for her bag amongst all the chaos. “Hurricane Margaery Tyrell.”

He laughed and moved someone’s makeup bag to sit in the chair lined up in front of the vanity. “No need to say any more, then.”

Her backpack was barely visible under a pile of Jeyne’s things, which Arya tossed aside carelessly. It was Jeyne’s fault for leaving her shit out in a pile and every second she spent in this dress was compounding her irritation. She wanted jeans and she wanted a drink. Thank the gods that Theon had insisted on an open bar for the reception, because she was about to drink her weight in whiskey.

“Hey,” Gendry called out, beckoning her with his fingers. “C’mere.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I can’t ask for a kiss from my own girlfriend?” 

“Not when I’m trying to get out of this bloody dress you can’t.”

He grinned. “Then let me help, yeah? I’m pretty good at getting you out of your clothes.”

She could hardly argue with that. Besides, he looked pretty inviting, sitting there with his arms held out and his legs spread like a perfect seat for her to climb onto. Arya dropped her bag beside his seat and hiked up the skirt of her dress to straddle his lap. 

She didn’t waste time, just cupped his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his, their lips sliding together until she was more than a little breathless. She could taste the whiskey on his tongue, too, which was explained when she shifted and felt the flask in his pocket pressing right against her thigh.

“It’s empty,” he explained when she pulled away to try and fish it out of his pocket. “Pre-gamed a bit with Jon.”

“Bastard.” Arya scowled, flicking his nose. “Both of you, bastards.”

“And yet…” Gendry grinned, pulling her in for another kiss. _And yet_ , she loved them. Her idiot cousin and her idiot boyfriend. Bastards, both of them, but _her_ bastards. 

She meant to climb off his lap after a few more kisses, but then his tongue slid across her bottom lip and she moaned, pressing as close as she could get to feel his warm body against hers. Except that was a lot harder than it sounded when dealing with the long, slitted skirt of her dress and the bobby pins that pulled in her hair when Gendry tried to cup her head.

“Ugh,” Arya growled, reaching back to wrench one of the wretched things free. “That hairdresser stuck me like a pincushion. I’ll never get all these things out.”

Gendry looked dangerously close to laughing again, cupping his hand around the back of her neck to rub her baby hairs soothingly with his thumb.

“Here, let me help.”

He plucked the pins out with deft fingers, spreading relief through her body as the tension in her scalp lessened. The last one was burrowed deep but Gendry twisted his fingers to pull it free, combing his fingers through her freed hair to straighten it out.

“Better?”

“Gods, so much,” Arya sighed.

Gendry hummed, sinking his hand deep into her hair at the base of her neck. “Good.”

Then he curled his hand into a fist and pulled, yanking a gasp from her throat as her head snapped back with the force of it. Before she had a moment to react, his mouth was on her throat and he was kissing her skin so intensely that she was positive it was going to bruise.

She tried to part her legs more, aching to drag herself against him as the need reared up fast and made her pussy spasm. In her haste she moved too fast and the slit just above her knee tore and suddenly it ended three inches higher than before. 

“Fuck,” she gasped. “You couldn’t have waited until I got this fucking dress off before you decided you wanted to fuck me?”

“For the love of the gods, Arya,” he muttered back before setting his teeth into her collarbone and making her back arch. “It’s just a dress. You look hot.”

Huh. Maybe she should have been bothered by the fact that he seemed this into her body in a dress she would rather burn than wear, but Gendry wanting her was never a _bad_ thing.

“The lace itches,” she protested, wiggling to try and get some kind of contact. “Let me get it off.”

He licked a trail up the column of her neck and Arya shuddered, grabbing his face again to guide him back to her mouth for a filthy kiss full of teeth and tongue and some sort of growl from Gendry that set her blood on fire. 

He smirked at her when they broke apart, likely at her inadequate attempts to grind herself against his cock, but she really didn’t care.

“Are you attached to this dress?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Before she could figure out what the amused look on his face was all about, he’d grabbed handfuls of the lace covering her collarbones and ripped it straight down the seam across her shoulders. Then he took hold of the other side and did the same thing, so the lace hung freely at her chest and back.

“That better?”

Arya stared at him for a moment while she processed the waves of heat rolling over her body and settling between her thighs, making her clit throb.

“Almost,” she said, reaching for the buttons on his shirt to pop them open. Gendry grabbed her forearms, halting her movements while he clucked his tongue.

“What the fuck are you— _oh_.”

And then she was off his lap, but not of her own free will. Gendry pushed her up and had her spun around before she could formulate any sort of witty response. Arya’s hands smacked against the vanity just as their eyes met in the mirror.

His gaze never strayed but his hands did, pushing her dress up over hips and tucking his fingers into the waistband of her underwear.

“How about now?” he asked while he dragged them down her legs.

Arya bit her lip, lifting one foot at a time to step out of her panties. She was still in the heels Sansa had talked her into as well, but no way in hell was she about to stop Gendry now. 

“Getting better.”

His hand smoothed over her behind, warm calluses rubbing her sensitive skin, and Arya bent over more to push into his touch. He chuckled but took the hint, nudging her legs further apart as his fingers dipped into her wet folds.

“Gods, you’re wet,” he groaned, sinking his middle finger into her.

Her fingers curled, nails scraping against the solid wood of the vanity. 

“Didn’t think you’d complain about me being ready to go.”

Gendry smirked at her. “Observation, not a complaint.” 

Then he slid a second finger inside her and twisted them and Arya’s legs shook. The pressure and friction were great, perfect, second to none, but it was the eye contact that was killing her. She couldn’t look away from the mirror, from Gendry’s intense gaze on her face while he fingered her.

And then there was the whole fact that she was still dressed during this whole escapade that had her moaning louder and rocking back to take more and more. They weren’t in danger of being caught, what with the automatically locking door and all, but it still felt illicit to be doing this with ripped fabric hanging from her tits and her skirt all bunched up around her waist. Hot as sin, that’s what it was.

He got impatient first, because Arya could hear him fumbling to get his belt undone with one hand. Between the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into her, she could make out his zipper going down.

“Fuck,” she whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to form anything more coherent or lively with him pulling his cock out behind her. “Yes, come on.”

His fingers disappeared, leaving her empty for a brief moment before Gendry shifted and then suddenly the blunt tip of his cock was spreading her wide. She inhaled deeply and pushed back against him, throwing up a silent prayer of thanks that they were long past the days of fumbling for condoms in heated moments like this. 

With the heels still strapped to her feet she had a few more inches of height and it helped tremendously with the angle, letting Gendry slide deep without having to lift her up. Then he eased back and slammed into her again and she scrambled to hold onto the vanity as tight as she could, her eyes locked onto his in the mirror.

There was no real build-up, no teasing stop and go like he tried to do sometimes to drive her wild. It was just relentless strokes, their skin smacking together noisily and their shallow panting mingling together and echoing in the small room. 

It was just this side of too much but Arya was nowhere close to asking him to slow down. His hands were a little busy holding her hips steady while he pounded into her, so she worked a hand under her skirt and moaned as she circled her clit with a fingertip.

“Gods, Arya,” Gendry breathed. “So hot, _shit_ , you’re perfect.”

He was always the more talkative one during sex but she couldn’t contain herself either, wordless moans and grunts of pleasure spilling out. She rubbed herself right up to the peak of one orgasm and lost her rhythm just before it crested. 

Irritably, she whined and shoved her ass back forcefully into one of his thrusts. “I want to come, dammit.”

Their eyes met again in the mirror, passing lightning-quick looks of pleasure until a particularly sharp thrust and the right pressure on her clit sent Arya tipping over the edge. One hand braced on a rickety piece of furniture wasn’t nearly enough to keep her standing through the shockwaves, but she managed it when Gendry slowed to lazy, drawn-out strokes. She shuddered and dropped her head forward, caught up in the intensity of it all.

Dimly through the haze, Arya was aware of his hand sliding up her back. But she still wasn’t prepared for him to grab onto her hair and pull her head back again, tugging until she looked at him in the reflective glass.

“Again,” he said, a command more than a question of her ability to do what he was asking. “Come for me again, Arya.”

She didn’t look away this time. Their eyes stayed locked while her arm wobbled and her wrist started to cramp from the frantic way she was sliding her fingers all over her clit. Gendry sped up again too, driving deep enough that Arya was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be doing much dancing the rest of the night.

His hand twisted in her hair, pulling at her already tender scalp once more, and that combined with the sight of his focused face in the mirror was enough. Then she was coming again, swearing and gasping his name and clenching tight enough to feel every delicious inch of his cock sliding in and out of her. 

By the time she came back to reality, Gendry had let go of her hair in favor of pulling her hips back with both hands to meet his erratic movements. He cursed, too, and warmth flooded Arya from her toes up to her neck when he spilled inside her. 

When his movements stopped completely and he slipped out of her pussy, Arya put forth the effort necessary to pick her head up and look over her shoulder with a lazy grin.

“You call that helping? You didn’t even get the damned thing off.”

Gendry snorted. “Complaints?”

“Not a complaint,” she said as she spun around to face him on shaky legs. “Just an observation.”

He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. It took a minute, but he was able to fuss with the ripped lace in the back of her dress to work the zipper down so she could finally take it off, along with the heels. Arya tossed the ruined outfit aside and grabbed her bag to fish out the jeans and t-shirt she’d packed for the reception.

“That’s more like it.” Gendry grinned at her, leaning on the vanity with his pants fastened but his shirt half-untucked and his neck still flushed. 

Arya threw him a curious look. “Thought you liked the dress?”

“I like you any way I can have you,” he corrected. “But the easy access was nice.”

“Don’t get used to it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll be wearing jeans to our wedding.”

He smiled then, wide and genuine, and grabbed her wrist so he could step close and plant a kiss on top of the little silver ring situated on the fourth finger of her left hand.

“We’ll make do. We always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've made it this far, please leave a kudos, and go ahead and fill my soul up with comments if you feel like doing that, too. xoxo


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